


vaporous

by Hyoushin



Series: blue winter roses [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Related, Gen, blame the author, whimsy drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyoushin/pseuds/Hyoushin
Summary: a girl sees only when she dreams





	vaporous

From the void comes an old sensation. The touch of a hand atop her head hushes the rising din of awareness. Its imagined weight dips her back into a sea of memory. Arya sees, with clarity and definition, the stern lines of his expression give way to tenderness. There is the warmth of a kiss upon her brow and the faintest of whispers,  _you will marry a king—_

Instead of keeping up her balance, Arya leaps, dashes, and crashes into him, enveloping her thin limbs around the strong frame of her lord father. She peers up at him, unable to vocalize how much she does not want him to  _go._  A particular smile, the one reserved for her, softens the rough edges brought on by his new role. In this instant, he is not only the lord of snow-covered fields, towering stone walls, of people who grin and wave at her as they bustle by, but her father as he tells her how kind and pretty she is.

_Will rule his castle—_

Don’t go.

_Your_   _sons will be knights and princes and lords—_

Don’t go. Don’t go.

_Even a High Septon._

Gradually, the body in her arms loses its solidity. Her hands clutch at his garb until it is there no more. A stranger holding shards of doubt and fear hacks at her insides, making blood ooze from her skin.

Then, she catches a blur from the corner of her eye.  

_That’s the real king of this castle._

A cat, his fur dry and coarse and of the deepest black there could ever be, stretches his body as he stares at her. He turns and glances at her once more, waiting for her to follow. He is inviting her into his dwelling.

_The black bastard._

When she makes to touch him, the cat begins to race down endless corridors, throughout secret nooks, across spiraling stairways and Arya can only chase as fast as she can. The cat, eventually, runs into a corner. She hears a warning hiss but Arya jumps, undeterred, and traps him with her body.   
  
_Older than sin. And twice as mean._  
  
Just like once before, she places a kiss between his eyes—eyes tinged with a grey so dark they seem black.  
  
She averts not her face, so she is surprised upon feeling, instead of the sharpness of claws, the gentle drag of blunt nails over her cheeks. She blinks, recognizes the boy before her, and her heart overworks itself as she breathes out, I miss you.

_I will miss you._

Kisses, sighs, and promises are woven into a most ruthless longing.

_Who knows?_

A girl awakens.

And nearly cries out at the influx of gloom pervading the vibrancy of a dream already out of reach.

Almost like an explosion, a spoken reassurance returns to her, settling within these walls, rebounding against this hard bed, infusing recollected colors into a sightless gaze.

_Different roads lead to the same castle._

The sentiment that laced his voice back then refuses to leave her.


End file.
